Night, Day and the Forgotten Hour
by Quixotic-Feline
Summary: Hermione realizes that not everything is black and white – she also realizes some things about herself. And self – discovery isn’t always pleasant. DHr
1. Default Chapter

Summary: Charm, wit and a strong sense of reality were the most firm traits of Hermione Granger. But when the world shatters around you, charm fades, wit dims and nothing is real anymore. When Hermione realizes that not everything is black and white – she also realizes some things about herself. And self – discovery isn't always pleasant. D/Hr

Night, Day and the Forgotten Hour

By:

Penny

**Prologue**

„_A person is never happy except at the price of some ignorance." _– _Anatole France._

_THERE SHE _was. Floating down the hall with a vibrant smile lighting up her dimpled face, making her whole being _glow_. She was positively radiating warmth and youth and ignorant joy. She was charming. She was _enchanting._

Maybe it was her huge, challenging eyes. Or her smart, tinkling laugh. Or the witty remarks she stumped even the most clever – tongued professors with. But everything about her made you want to shrivel up with bitter envy.

"Envy is the ulcer of the soul," she always said laughingly to anyone who admitted their jealously of her grace. Of her charm. Of her _life._

But she would always laugh and say something to cheer the other up. Which always worked, as she always knew just what to say to make someone feel better. She was brilliant like that.

She had everything perfectly clear for her. She had beautiful grades, wonderful friends, a bright future; her ideals and views were orderly segregated, her values and dreams and problems practical. Nothing was blurry, nothing was unsure. She knew exactly where she was headed. She even calculated her future wages once she became an Arithmancy expert. Which she would. She had a guaranteed scholarship.

She was Head Girl, after being prefect for two years straight. She participated in extracurricular activities, helped her younger peers in their studies, helped her _older _peers in their studies, religiously attended S.P.E.W. meetings and was friends with almost all of her teachers.

When someone looked at Hermione Granger, they said 'Wow! She's so lucky. She's perfect.'

But we must remember...

...No one is perfect.

_A/n_: Mah new storah!! Yes, I know I shouldn't be starting a new story as I've been neglecting my other (which, if anyone noticed, is now called 'Kiss My Demons Goodnight'. Wicked title, eh? I thought it fitted the story more than the former. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this! Reviews would be greatly appreaciated. Oh, and suggestions! Don't be shy to suggest anything, as I will surely take it in for serious concideration. Adieu!


	2. Revolution

**Chapter I: **Revolution

_Dignity consists not in possessing honors, but in the consciousness that we deserve them.__ – Aristotle _

_OH, MERLIN, _she was late! And to the first lesson of the day, no less. Hermione sped down the disserted hallways like a tornado of glittery dust and parchment, her repetitive footsteps echoing against the walls ominously. They faded into silence, only to be reignited again.

The many portraits eyed her suspiciously as she passed their golden frames, a blur of bushy curls and thick black robes.

Her heavy rucksack was weighing her down, and the even heavier volumes she held in her aching arms were giving her no more encouragement than the impending doom she knew awaited her down in the dungeons. For today was Tuesday, and this wonderful day always started out with Double Potions.

At long last, she reached the foreboding black doors of the Potion's Chamber. Clutching a cruel stitch in her side, limping, and completely out of breath, Hermione meekly pushed open the regal slabs of wood.

Every head, both Griffindor and Slytherin, turned to stare at her flustered form as she entered. At the front of the room, an unreadable expression unfolded on the potion's master waxy white face.

"Miss Granger, would you tell us why you were..." he glanced at the sinister cuckoo clock hanging in the corner, "Twenty minutes late?"

Hermione felt an unpleasant warmth crawl over her skin, causing beads of perspiration to form on her neck.

Her lip quivered, as if her practiced lie was struggling to spill out, then sighed. Her head sunk in defeat.

"I overslept, Professor," she mumbled ashamedly. The warmth was becoming unbearable. The inhuman silence was filled with the scrape of wood against stone as chairs were shifted in disbelief.

"Pardon, Miss Granger? I don't think I heard you," mocked Snape, his lips twitching in a barely perceptible half smirk.

Hermione clenched her teeth and raised her head so high that she had to look down her nose to stare defiantly into Severus Snape's glinting black eyes.

"I overslept, professor," she said loudly, her voice firm and clear in the musty darkness of the dungeon.

Snape smiled. A true, satisfied smile.

"Alright then, Granger. Have a seat," he said almost pleasantly, striding back to his desk. Hermione watched in slack jawed astonishment as he calmly slipped into his high backed chair and resumed shuffling through his notes.

"Listen up, I won't be repeating these instructions. Longbottom, I suggest _you _write all of this down. To brew an Apathy Potion, you need three ounces of grinded polypody flowers, grown under the full moon in early autumn..."

Hermione, still as if in a daze, robotically flopped down into her seat between two boys.

"Fuckin' hell, 'Mione! Snape _let you off _the hook!" whispered Ron disbelievingly, his eyes wider than butterbeer caps. Harry snickered discreetly, knowing what was to come.

At his vulgar choice of vocabulary, Hermione snapped out of her funk to smack him upside the head.

"Ronald! Your mother didn't work her heart out to raise you well for you to turn around and spout such atrocious words! Be ashamed!" she scolded fiercely, eyes narrowed into thin slits that, if it were possible, would be glowing red.

Harry's girly giggle finally escaped his lips, and he clamped a varnished hand to his mouth. Ron, grumbling under his breath, turned back to taking notes.

Hermione continued to glare at his head for a few more seconds before hurriedly taking out her Potion accessories.

"...You have exactly thirty-four minutes to complete the potion. You may begin," declared Snape's silky voice, and with a start Hermione realized that she didn't have any notes.

She peered meekly onto Harry's pile of papers lying on his side of the desk. His lips curled into a disbelieving smirk.

"Mione...? Are you doing, what I think you're doing?" he asked with a note of amusement in his voice. She flushed a bright pink, shrinking in her seat like a slapped pup.

"Uh..."

Face still fixed into an enormous grin, Harry placed the notes gently in her lap. With a wink, he set back to stirring his potion.

Hermione smiled at his profile, thinking what a lovely mate Harry was. She set to work.

Five minutes into working, Hermione's ears picked up on an unpleasant hiss. Followed by the sound was a despaired sniffle.

Eyes narrowing, she discreetly peered over her shoulder and combed through the classroom with an attentive gaze.

There. In the third row sat a girl she recognized as Miriam Treaston, who was crouched low in her seat with her hair veiling her face. Next to her, sneering and murmuring was Rex Vurnou, a former prefect Slytherin.

It didn't escaped Hermione's memory that Miriam was a Muggle-born Griffindor. Looking closely, she saw the unmistakable glimmer of a tear on Miriam's cheek.

Rex was leaning closer to Miriam, whispering tauntingly as he did so. Hermione strained her ears to hear something he was saying. That was when she caught the faint whisper of The Word.

"Mudblood..."

At that moment, some wild thing unleashed inside of her, screaming out white hot rage that made her whole form shake.

How _DARE _he... That... That...

Suddenly, everyone's glass containers burst simultaneously, and rained down their diamond shards onto the floor.

She stood up so abruptly, that her chair toppled over with a crash that penetrated the whole chamber. Everyone stopped once again to look at her, some alarmed, some curious.

Snape, surprisingly didn't say anything at all, only calmly looked up to watch her expressionlessly.

She whirled around sharply and stalked over to the offender's desk, where she towered over him like a looming shadow. Rex swallowed heavily, and glanced up at her with wide eyes.

Glare still sharp enough to draw blood from a stone, Hermione slowly leaned down to be nose to nose with the Slytherin boy.

There was a beat of silence, where everyone waited with bated breath for the horrific scene that was sure to unfold.

"Listen up, scum!" she shouted suddenly, so suddenly that Rex jumped. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

"You ought to be damned," she snarled. "You prejudice, wicked bastard! You think you're better than Miriam, just because she's Muggle-born? As if she were some... some... _thing... _some creature not worth your breath? Well, let me give you a WAKE UP CALL!!"

Rex wasn't looking so big and tough now, eh? The git was shrinking more and more into his seat, the color of his face putting Ron to shame.

"Every single day, we, _MUDBLOODS, _have to put up with the childish and immature and hurtful jeering of you _PUREBLOODS!" _she all but screamed, spraying the Slytherin with specks of moisture from her bared mouth.

Some people murmured in agreement, while some stomped their feet lightly to show their consent.

Encouraged, Hermione continued, standing straight and staring out into the class with a hard, hawk like gaze. She seemed to radiate power and authority, enshrined in an aura of passion.

"Just because purebloods won't accept the fact that most Muggle-borns are _better _than them, they stubbornly continue to keep up their stupid prejudices!"

A few voices cried out their agreement, stomping their feet harder. She took a breath.

"So, what are they saying? That just because some of us were born not by our own will into a family of no magical blood, we aren't human? That we're somehow worse than them? That they can't give us a chance?"

People began to shout, pumping their fists into the air and standing up. The stomping increased in volume. Snape was on his feet now, yelling for order, but to now avail. His oily voice was drowned out by the synchronized chant birthing in the chamber.

"Are we worse than them?!" yelled Hermione, gracefully jumping on top of Miriam and Rex's desk, eyes ablaze and hair flying about her wildly.

"NO!"

"Are we better than them?!" she bellowed.

"YES!" roared back the crowd.

Her chest was heaving now. Beads of perspiration were rolling down the side of her head now, but she paid them no mind. She had to finish this.

"Then we will NOT allow them to treat us like scum any longer! We will rebel against this unjust system! We will not go down with a FIGHT!!"

The echo of the student's roar reverberated throughout the entire castle, shaking every stone.

Hermione calmly jumped down and, amidst the jumping bodies, walked over to Snape's desk and accepted her detention slip.

**A/n: **Too tired to write a bunch of pointless author-whining. 'll do later. Oh, actually, I do have something. If anyone noticed, Harry's gay. If you have a problem with it, then please save me your dim-witted flames and just... don't read the following chapters of this story. It's that simple.

A DIOMOND TO:

_XxXbloodynekoXxX_: Will do. And thanks!

_amethyst-rose_: Thank ya, doll!

_transcendent-sin_: Glad you liked it!

_foxer_: Thank you! You're such a sweetie!

_Miss Piratess_: Oooh... I have lots planned for her. ::laughs manically:: Thank ye, for your lovely words.


	3. Stare Downs

**Chapter III Stare Downs**

The whispers followed her like a mocking breeze, mere rustles of barely breathed voices. But she swept them off defiantly and with her head held high marched down the corridor, an aura of pride radiating from her being.

News about her speech down in the dungeons had spread across the student body like wildfire. The whole school had been abuzz with discussion and arguments and debates on the validity of her words.

Receiving smiles and pats and appraising beams along with scowls and glares and swear words, Hermione never let her poise falter.

Offering sunny smiles to those who supported, and cool glances to those who opposed, she knew exactly how to proceed.

She demonstrated her point one Thursday morning.

Hermione hurried down the hallway, shifting the heavy volumes in her arms uncomfortably. She had just got out of Advanced Human Transfiguration, and she was running late for Ancient Runes.

As she hastily spun around a corner, she collided with a hard figure, causing her to dangerously teeter backwards. Suddenly, a burly hand reached out and roughly shoved her, causing her to topple to the ground and land in an unceremonious heap.

Loud guffaws followed, and a thick, oily voice rang out arrogantly, "If it isn't our revolutionary Mudblood." Hermione sat perfectly still on the floor, a few defiant curls slipping from her haphazard bun. Other than the slight twitch of her lips, she seemed absolutely calm.

With a smooth toss of her head, she looked up into the unpleasantly sneering face of Otto Flint, Marcus Flint's younger brother. He possessed the same burly, bulky figure and dim expression as his older sibling.

He watched her expectantly, seemingly pleased to see that a small audience had gathered around them to watch. He basked in the attention.

"Waddya gonna do now, Granger? Yell at me?" was his intelligent taunt, and with a triumphant bark of laughter he high-fived his mates. Hermione didn't bother trying to stop her eyes from rolling.

"Pick up the books, Flint. And when you do so, you'll apologize," said Hermione in a cold, even voice. Murmurs broke out in the crowd.

Otto looked slightly startled, then twisted his face into a snarl.

"Oh, yeah? I don't have to listen to Mudblood scum!" he snapped thickly, squaring his shoulders and glaring down his nose. Hermione folded her arms across her chest and smirked at him coolly. And smirked. And smirked.

A few moments went by, and when Hermione didn't shift her blazing gaze off of him, he shifted uncomfortably.

"Stop staring at me," he warned, his voice shriller than he intended. Hermione's smirk widened and her eyes narrowed, mere slits of blazing amber.

"Stop it," he warned. Hermione continued to stare him down. Everything was written in her eyes: hatred, defiance, pride. The emotions swirled so ferociously, the intensity so bright, that her eyes seemed to glow, as if some internal energy had illuminated them.

"I said, stop staring at me, damn it!" he yelled, making the gathering crowd jump.

"Scared, Flint?" she mocked, revealing the white points of her teeth in a skeletal grin. He swallowed so loudly the sound seemed to echo against the walls.

"N-no way! You're just a Mudblood bitch!" he cried, sounding to all the world like a person on the verge of tears.

"Pick up my books, Flint," ordered Hermione, motioning to the scattered volumes with her hand, eyes never leaving his face.

Otto looked around at the gathered faces, and twisted his face into a mask of calm.

"I dare you to, Flint!" she whispered with a manic excitement, as if she knew what was coming and was very pleased with it.

The Slytherin looked at the books, carefully avoiding her eyes, and slowly turned around and walked away. Hermione watched his wide back shrink into the distance with a miniscule smile.

She sat there, absolutely motionless, until the crows grew bored and dispersed. Her smile had grown into a wide grin by the time the last person had left.

With a shriek of triumph, she fell back against the ground amongst her scattered books and ecstatically kicked her feet.

"Clever Granger. Conquer the world for me," whispered a voice in the shadows, lost in the screams of happiness.


End file.
